


l'alba nasconde il nostro dolore

by DapperSheep



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Character - Freeform, Light Angst, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 10:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17282555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DapperSheep/pseuds/DapperSheep
Summary: In a far corner where the sun above shone bright, a brick-walled garden lies.Light floods the garden with rays as thick as honey, quenching the thirsty flowers that bloomsand that spreads beauty in all the colors that existed...But you know this to be nothing but an illusion…don’t you?





	l'alba nasconde il nostro dolore

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to write about what may have happened to canon Spaghetti post escape from his MA's household and before he met Borscht, and what may have gone through his mind now that he's free and no longer has to answer to anyone.
> 
> Warnings for a tiny bit of postmortem description but it isn't that bad unless you have a very vivid imagination.
> 
> Beta'd by WanderinTsundoku.

 

An acrid smell made him wrinkle his nose. He placed a gloved hand over the lower half of his face as he moved past the crate with that foul stench, seeking a spot that was far enough from whatever questionable thing was giving off the smell.

The hold was big enough and it had only been that one crate that smelled terrible, so moving to the other end allowed him to breathe in air that didn’t make his non-existent insides churn. He settled the suitcase he carried on top of a crate then carefully hoisted himself up on it while cradling an urn he held carefully in a hand.

He’d assumed that about a day had passed since he had slipped away from the household. He didn’t stay to gloat the fruits of his checkmate, nor did he leave a single trace of himself behind.

Exchanging his luxurious clothes for something more plain, no one had been the wiser. No one saw him to be a Food Soul on the run.

On this cargo airship and at this ungodly hour of the night, the only ones who knew he was even on this vessel destined for Nevras were the pilot and the crewman he had bribed to keep his existence a secret.

And so here he was, trying to fit himself in the cargo hold along with the various crates of ingredients and other items. Surely, there would also be contraband hidden somewhere deep in the crates but he was not one to push his luck, nor was it in his interest to dig up dirt about his transport’s crewmen.

The airship suddenly jerked. The small suitcase tumbled to the floor, however, Spaghetti scrambled to secure his grip on the urn he held in his hands. The contents of the suitcase mattered less to him than what was contained in the small urn.

When the airship settled from the turbulence, Spaghetti let out a derisive snort at the ceiling. Any other time he would have words at the less than ideal circumstances but this was the most optimal choice he had before the accursed children of  _ that man _ could track him down.

Spaghetti’s expression grew dispassionate, and yet the hatred in his heart was darkly pleased that he had carried out the first and most important revenge of them all.

“Such mercy would not have been my choice for those murderers, but I respected your wish, my master. Until the end.” He spoke to the empty air.

It had been a terribly drawn out game. The trash who had called themselves his Master Attendant’s bloodkin thought him harmless without orders from his Master Attendant, though they kept him at an arm’s length since that day. The foolish patriarch who he had once respected blinded himself with hubris, believing that Spaghetti would be desperate to remain in luxury, would share the same sentiments about having a weak and naive boy as a Master Attendant.

The mortal had been wrong. The mortal had trusted him.

And that was their downfall.

Unconsciously, he gripped the urn tighter, as if he were holding a sleeping child.

There had been no funeral rites. No one but himself to mourn the passing of a victim of circumstances and human greed. A near decade had past since he had buried his Master Attendant in a shallow unmarked grave. And a mere few months prior when he had dug up what was left.

The image of the corpse was seared into his memory, a twisted medley of adipocere, putrefaction and decomposing bones under torn, wine stained garments the adolescent had died in. The corpse was still somewhat recognizable, much to Spaghetti’s morbid fascination. But his interest hadn’t lingered, and soon the smell of rotting tissue and bone being burned by unquenchable soul fire filled his nostrils.

He would never forget it.

The airship flew well into the night and into the first light of daybreak, with hardly any  turbulence encountered after the last. Spaghetti took this moment to come up to the empty deck, leaning against the starboard railing with the urn in his hand. Up here there was nothing but the peaceful, cold silence, broken only by the humming sound of the engines that kept the airship aloft and sailing through the sea of clouds.

Over the horizon, the sun was beginning to rise. The wind whipped away the the slightly curled locks from his face, the sunlight hitting it in a way that made it look as if it were made of fire. He savored the last sunrise he would ever witness with his Master Attendant, in whatever form he took.

Soon that moment passed. Without fanfare, Spaghetti pulled off the lid of the urn and slowly tipped it over the side, allowing the bonedust to spill free into the wind.

It was his promised send off, his final gift to the child who had brought him into this world, and who had, for a time, shown him what it was like to love and be kind. A sweet memory floated up from the dredges of his mind of a time when he had tucked his Master Attendant into bed, telling him stories of the day’s battles like a knight fighting the dragons in those children’s fairy tales.

He was happy, at least, that his Master Attendant was dead and free from this hope forsaken world.

The light left the Food Soul’s eyes as he let the urn slip free of his grasp and it fell into the sea of clouds, watching it disappear with a disinterested gaze.

Now then…

It was time he paid the world back in kind for its disservice.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If there's any Italian native speakers out there who could double check the title for me since I only used Google Translate, please do feel free free to correct me. Thank you for reading!


End file.
